


I Never Thought I'd Feel This Way For You (But I Wouldn't Have it Any Other Way)

by Skylar_Lois



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylar_Lois/pseuds/Skylar_Lois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver needs a ghost whisperer, but doesn't want people to think he actually believes in ghosts. He accidentally discovers that an IT girl has the ability to communicate with ghosts, so he pretends to be interested in her and ends up falling for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Thought I'd Feel This Way For You (But I Wouldn't Have it Any Other Way)

"The newest one just resigned this morning," Diggle says in greeting.

Oliver sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's the third one this week?"

"Fourth," Diggle corrects.

"Did she say why?"

Diggle shrugs. "Oh, the usual. A sudden chill in the room, the feeling that they're being watched and the tapping of the keyboard. If their stories didn't sound so rehearsed, I might actually believe them."

"So, you think someone's pulling a prank then? Wayne Industries, perhaps?" Oliver scoffs. "That prick is probably getting a laugh out of this right now."

Diggle raises an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that Bruce Wayne will stoop this low."

Oliver ignores that. "So, any plans with Lyla tonight?"

"No, why?"

"We're going to do what the four other cleaners have failed to do - clean up the office so that my new Chief Financial Officer can move in."

* * *

 

  
Later that evening, Oliver and Diggle travel down four floors to the finance department and make their way to the previous CFO's office. The moment Oliver touches the handle to the door, the lights on the entire floor start flickering.

The two men exchange a look.

Oliver rolls his eyes before pushing the glass door open and flipping on the light switch. There's nothing out of the ordinary in the room, which further supports that someone's messing with them.

He goes over to the desk and starts clearing everything from it into a cardboard box. When that's done, he moves on to the drawers, frowning when they refuse to budge.

"Dammit, they're locked. Do you have the keys by any chance?" he asks Diggle who's looking around the room with mild interest.

"Nope. I'll go and get it from security," he offers. He starts heading toward the door when he notices that the temperature has dropped noticeably and that he can see his breath. He turns around and sees that it hasn't escaped Oliver's attention.

Oliver crosses the room to check the AC controls, frowning when it indicates 69 degrees. "Pull up the camera feeds. I want to know who's messing with us."

Diggle gets right to it, but stops abruptly just before he reaches the desk. "Oliver," he says.

The chair squeaks as if someone's just sat on it, but there's no one there. The previously locked drawers slide open on their own and the two men stare at it in disbelief, refusing to accept what their eyes are showing them. Then, the desktop powers up on its own, the sounds of tapping on the keyboard filling the room shortly after.

Diggle stares at the monitor, visibly paling.

"Digg? What is it?"

He doesn't respond.

Oliver strides over and stares at the screen himself. Despite everything his mind is telling him, the blood drains from his face.

The words _I'm here, Mr Queen_ are written in bold on the screen.

* * *

 

"CCTV footage came up empty," Diggle says the moment he sees Oliver the next morning. "I went through it over and over and over again. There was no one in the control room last night, but that doesn't necessarily mean we're dealing with a supernatural being. The AC could have been malfunctioning."

"It's not possible for a malfunction to dip the temperature below what it's capable of. We both felt it. It was so cold that we could see our own breath. The temperature must've been in the forties," Oliver points out.

"The locked drawers could have been remote-control operated. That would explain why they seemed to have opened by themselves," Digg continues.

"Okay. Then, how do you explain the words on the screen?"

"I... can't."

Oliver cocks an eyebrow at him.

"I may know a thing or two about computers, but I'm not an IT expert," Diggle points out.

When they arrive at QC, Oliver taps the button for the 18th floor instead of the 36th where his office is.  
  


* * *

 

 

"Yes, Mr Andrews, I understand you're frustration," Felicity says patiently. "Have you tried rebooting your PC?" She taps away at her computer while she listens to the man on the phone.

She brushes at her shoulder impatiently, turning to glance behind her. There isn't anyone there, just the grey partition separating her cubicle from her colleague's. "Stop it," she hisses. "I'm working." She turns back to her computer, frowning at something Mr Andrews says through the phone. "Oh, no, that wasn't directed at you, Mr Andrews. I was speaking to a colleague. Do you see the little round button on your PC? The one with a circle on it? Just press that once and—"

She pulls the receiver away from her ear and looks at it. "You're welcome," she mutters to herself before placing it back on the cradle.

Oliver blinks at what he's just witnessed. If he'd seen this prior to the night before, he'd have simply thought that she's possibly mad. Now, he isn't so sure. He strides over to her little cubicle and waits for her to look up.

She doesn't.

He clears his throat. "Felicity Smoak? Hi, I'm Oliver Queen."

She looks up at him in surprise, chewing on the end of a pen. She takes it out of her mouth and blinks. "Of course. I know who you are, you're Mr Queen."

"No, Mr Queen is my father," he says automatically.

"Right," she says, "but he's not here anymore—" she shakes her head, "—I mean he resigned, and you're now the CEO, which means you could come down to the IT department and listen to me babble. Which will end, in three, two, one."

"I have some trouble with my computer and they told me you were the person to come and see."

She nods, encouraging him to continue.

"Is it possible to control a computer remotely? Typing a document on a device I have on hand and have it appear on a computer that's nowhere near me?"

"Sure. Software like this has been available for some time now. I can help you set it up and show you how it works if you'd like."

"I don't actually have access to the computer right now," he says thoughtlessly. "It's password protected."

"I thought you said it's your computer," she points out.

"It is," he insists.

She cocks her head at him.

Surprised, because no one has ever called him out on anything during the first meeting, he smiles. "It's a company computer, and since I'm CEO, it's technically my computer."

She nods, satisfied with his explanation.

"One more thing, Felicity. How can I tell if a set of drawers are remote-control enabled and what is the typical range at which they can be operated? Is is possible to have it controlled from say... Gotham?"

* * *

 

  
Oliver goes up to the finance department after Felicity finishes her description, heading straight for the office and starts checking the drawers. He finds them securely locked again, but this time, he's come prepared.

Fishing the keys out of his pants pocket, he starts unlocking them all and checks for any indication of tech on them. His search comes up empty. It is just an ordinary piece of furniture, meaning that what happened the night before isn't technically possible, and yet...

He scowls. This would be so much easier to resolve if it were really Bruce fucking Wayne messing with him.

 

 

* * *

  
At 12.30pm, Oliver goes back down to the IT department. He sees Felicity standing in her cubicle and grabbing her purse, getting ready to go for lunch.

"Stop it!" she hisses, shrugging her shoulder and throwing a glare behind it.

People start looking at her oddly, and Oliver sees them exchange looks that clearly indicate that they think she's lost her marbles. He watches as she grins sheepishly before ducking her head down.

He goes over to her, intending to ask her to take a trip up to the 34th floor. He's acutely aware of people whispering, wondering what he's doing at the IT department, and more importantly, why he's heading toward the weird girl who talks to herself instead of her supervisor.

Felicity stares up at him in surprise. The words are at the tip of his tongue, but they manage to go missing before he can voice it out. Instead, he finds himself saying, "Would you like to go for lunch with me?"

* * *

 

  
"Mr Queen, I don't understand," Felicity says once they've stepped out of hearing range of everyone else.

"Please, call me Oliver," he tells her as he walks her to his car.

She grabs his forearm, stilling him. "What's going on? Why are you doing this?"

He looks down at his arm where she's touching it and looks back up at her. She doesn't seem to realize that she's still holding onto him. "It's a 'thank you' for your help earlier this morning."

"Mr Qu—I mean Oliver—" she corrects after seeing his expression, "you don't have to do this. I was just doing my job."

"It's just lunch, Felicity," he says, his lips quirking in amusement. "You can decline, if you wish, but there's this Italian restaurant I frequent that serves the best ravioli you've ever tasted, and right now, I really want to take you there."

She bites her lip, clearly wracked with hesitation.

He starts walking to the car, her arm on his becoming outstretched as he steps away from her until she's just holding onto his sleeve with her fingertips. Then, she takes a step forward, and another, until she's next to the car and he's opening the door for her.

* * *

 

 

"You weren't kidding," she says after swallowing her first mouthful of mushroom ravioli.

"It's amazing, right?" he grins at her, clearly enjoying her reaction.

"It's like having an orgasm in my mouth," she says, and he chokes on his food.

"Oh my gosh," she exclaims in alarm. "Are you okay?"

He holds a hand up and nods, indicating that he is and starts gulping down his water.

"My brain-to-mouth filter malfunctions sometimes," she says apologetically. "I meant to say that it's really good, and I definitely wasn't making comparisons, even though my use of the word ' _orgasm_ ' seems to indicate otherwise. There really isn't any comparison to make, because one definitely trumps the other, so it's really not a competition at all—" she meets his gaze, "—and I'm going to stop talking right now."

He blinks at her. His gaze drops to her lips, despite his better judgement, and he'd be lying if he says that he isn't thinking of her pretty pink lips wrapped around him right now. His pants are suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight. He finds himself desperately wanting to know which orgasm it is she thinks trumps the other.

She clears her throat and he meets her gaze. She is flushing, which tells him that she's probably guessed his train of thought. He grins unapologetically at her.

He clears his throat. "So, why Queen Consolidated? I heard from my father that he had to fight tooth and nail for you against Wayne Industries."

She shrugs. "It's true. Bruce made me very compelling offers, and so did Mr Queen Senior. But, I was born and raised here, and I wanted to be close to home." She leans forward across the table. "Do you want to know why I really chose QC over Wayne Industries? It was to get back at him for leaving me hanging at the monkey bars when we were seven even though he promised not to after he found out that I'm afraid of heights. I know, I know, it's childish, but hey, I can't say he didn't deserve that."

He smiles at her. "I like you already."

She raises an eyebrow in interest. "Not a fan of Bruce either?"

"That prick is an asshole." He shakes his head. "But enough about him. I want to know more about you."

She spears a mushroom with her fork and puts it into her mouth, chewing slowly. He has a knowing look when she meets his gaze. _He knows I'm stalling_ , she realizes.

"What do you want to know?" she asks slowly.

"Favorite ice cream?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

He nods, "Yeah, really."

"Mint chip."

"Hobby?"

"Hacking."

He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth and stares at her.

Belatedly, she realizes what she's said. "... is a hobby that I do not engage in," she corrects hastily.

He lets out a wry grin, surprising her. "Hacked into any billion dollar companies lately? Wayne Industries, perhaps?"

"Not here!" she hisses, looking around surreptitiously.

"Middle name, Miss Smoak?" he asks, his eyes still filled with humor.

"Megan. And yours is Jonas." When he hikes his eyebrows in surprise, she adds, "If it's online, I can find it."

He laughs, helpless to it. _What is it about this girl?_ he wonders. He doesn't think he's ever smiled and laughed this much in his life.

He cocks his head. "Boyfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "I don't do girlfriends."

Her smile slips. _Oh, right. Oliver Queen the billionaire playboy. How could she forget?_

"But," he continues, "if it's you, I'm willing to try."

Her breath catches in her throat, eyes widening.

"So, what do you say?"

"To what?" she blinks.

He chuckles. "Your 'deer in the headlights look' is adorable. I'm asking you to go out with me, Felicity."

He doesn't look the least bit nervous, just patiently waiting for her answer.

She thinks about it for a moment, looking at him searchingly. "I don't know anything about you, Oliver."

He cocks an eyebrow at that.

"I mean _much_ ," she corrects. "I don't know much about you. I think you probably know more about me than I do about you."

He shrugs, not the least bit concerned. "You can get to know me better over our dates."

"I don't... put out on the first date."

His eyebrows hike at that. "I haven't even thought that far."

"Really?" she asks disbelievingly.

"Really," he says honestly. "Though now that you've mentioned it..." he trails off suggestively.

She chokes out a laugh. "You're such a man."

"A very virile one," he adds, smirking.

She swallows and looks away, pulling out her cellphone to check the time. "Oh my Google! We only have ten minutes to get back to the office. My so-called supervisor isn't going to be happy if I'm late. Again."

"Felicity, relax. I'm sure your boss wouldn't mind if your boss' boss takes you out for an extended lunch," he shrugs.

"No," she says firmly. "I don't expect to get special treatment if I do decide to go out with my boss' boss."

He finishes the rest of his wine slowly, and Felicity cannot help but watch as he does, her eyes transfixed by the way his throat works as he swallows. She meets his gaze and realizes that he's been watching her watch him. He sets his glass down, the corners of his mouth quirked, one side just a bit higher than the other. "Let's go then", he says, standing and offering her a hand.

She takes it.

They arrive at the office in record time after Oliver weaves in and out of traffic seemingly with ease, and nearly floors the gas when he finds opportunity to.  
  
Her legs are shaky, her fingers stiff after holding onto the handrail for dear life the entire ride. He helps her out of the car and allows her to hold onto him until her legs can support herself without giving out.

"Is this what going out with you is going to be like?" she asks, laughing breathlessly.

"I can't promise that it's going to be danger free, but I can promise that I'll do my best to keep you safe." His hands are resting on her hips, hers on his broad shoulders, and they are close enough that he can see every freckle on her nose and cheeks. He likes this, he decides. He likes the way she feels, likes their easy conversation and that she isn't anything like the other women he's been with, and that's saying something, because he's been with a lot of them.

"Oliver?" she says, snapping him out from his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"I think I can stand now."

He lets go of her reluctantly, immediately missing her touch and the feel of her beneath his fingers. He watches as she starts walking into the building, looking curiously at her when she turns around.

"The answer is 'yes', Mr Queen," she says with a smile, waving before she enters the office.

* * *

 

  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Diggle asks as Oliver prepares for his date with Felicity.

"I don't have a choice, Digg. Apparently, she can see the supernatural, and I'm 90 percent sure that what we saw that night was real."

"You know, you can just ask her to check the office out. I'm sure she'll be willing to do that, since you're her boss," Diggle points out.

"And have everyone know that I'm starting to believe in ghosts? That is absolutely not happening."

"So ask her discretely, or asked her to meet you after hours when you took her out for lunch that day. You don't have to lead the poor girl on like this."

"I was put on the spot and panicked. This was the best idea I could come up with at the time, and somehow I was asking her to go out with me."

Diggle narrows his eyes at him. "You like her."

"Of course I like her. What's not to like?"

"I mean you _like_ her like her."

" _What?_  " Oliver frowns. "No. She's just an employee and a friend."

Diggle scoffs. "Since when do you have friends? Besides Tommy," he adds. 

"I have friends," Oliver says defensively. " _You_ 're my friend."

Diggle looks at him in surprise and Oliver just shrugs, like it's something he's already accepted.

He claps his boss on the shoulder once. "Try not to hurt that girl. She doesn't deserve that."

The thought of Felicity hurting makes Oliver sick. The thought of her hurting _because_ of him makes him feel even worse. He grimaces, like someone's just sucker-punched him.

Diggle narrows his eyes at him, and then widens his eyes in surprise. "You _really_  do like that girl," he realizes.

Oliver is shaking his head even before he's done speaking. 

"Someone once told me this. If your heart doesn't tell you the truth, the pain will tell you."

Oliver frowns. "Do you actually believe that?"

Diggle shrugs.

* * *

 

 

Felicity stares at her reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time in the span of an hour, tugging at the hem of her dress self-consciously. She's wearing a black sleeveless dress that reaches mid-thigh, the neckline low enough to show a hint of cleavage. She pairs it with thigh high stockings with lace tops, leaving a strip of her thighs bare, and a pair of black pumps that gives her four inches of height.

She doesn't even know why she dressed up. When she was asked out on dates previously, she never bothered to—she's just the way she is, take it or leave it. There's something about Oliver that has her wanting to look her best, not just for him, but for herself too.

The doorbell rings, interrupting her thoughts. She swallows, trying to quell the butterflies that just won't stop fluttering inside her and takes a deep breath. Then, she goes downstairs and opens the door.

Oliver stands at the front door step, looking like he's just walked out of a GQ magazine. Her eyes roam down his body appreciatively, noticing the way he fills out his jacket to perfection and how gargantuan he is when he's standing right in front of her. When her eyes return to his face, she realizes that he looks a little taken aback and is blinking in surprise.

_Oh no_. She worries her lip nervously, wondering if she's not appropriately dressed or something. "What's wrong?" she asks.

He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. "Nothing. I just realized how blind I've been since the day I met you."

She blinks at him, taken aback by the perceived insult. She takes a step backward, not knowing if she's going to slam the door in his face or maybe do something more dramatic, but he speaks again, stilling her.

"I don't know how I've never realized how beautiful you are. I thought you were pretty the first day we met, and yet somehow I managed to completely miss the fact that you're beautiful." He closes the distance between them and takes a piece of her hair between his fingers. "So _utterly_ beautiful," he murmurs. "Your hair is so soft."

She exhales a breath and laughs in relief.

"What is it?" he asks, only just realizing that she was behaving oddly earlier.

"I was just being a girl who's nervous about a first date with the most beautiful man she's ever had the pleasure to lay her eyes on, and worrying about my dress and noticing how good you look in these clothes and then I thought you were insulting me when you were actually complimenting me and I just—"

He lays a hand on her shoulder, cutting off her ramble.

"Thank you," she says softly, looking slightly flustered and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

"Beautiful man?" he asks, his lips curling at the corners.

She snorts. "It's not like you didn't already know that."

"I didn't, actually," he tells her. "I've been described as many things, but I don't believe 'beautiful' was one of them."

"Well, you are. Beautiful, I mean. Really beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you." His eyes roam down her body, assessing her with obvious male appreciation. "Turn around," he says, and it doesn't escape her notice that his voice is a little hoarse.

She narrows her eyes at him. "You just want to check out my ass."

He shrugs, grinning unrepentantly. "Can you blame me for it?"

She turns in a circle slowly, her eyes widening in surprise at the desire she sees in his when she's facing him again.

"Let's go for our date, Miss Smoak, before I change my mind and take you to bed instead," he says, clearing his throat.

She bites back a gasp at his words, looking as if she's contemplating option two, but he shakes his head, half in warning and half in amusement. He takes her by the wrist and leads her out of her townhouse before she do anything to change his mind.

* * *

 

 

"Are we playing twenty questions?" Felicity asks when they're halfway through their main course of steak. She takes a sip of wine—red—of course, and sets the glass down before meeting his eyes.

"Perhaps," Oliver replies with a crooked grin.

"All right then. Favorite dessert."

"Anything with chocolate in it. But, ask me again after our third date." He flashes her a wicked grin, and delights in seeing her flush, his gaze following the trail of pink skin with interest until it disappears under the top of her dress. He suddenly wants to know how far down the flush goes.

"Movie?"

"Superman. Yours? If you say Twilight, I might have to break up with you," he jokes.

She shakes her finger at him. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Mr Queen. Lord of the Rings. Don't ask me which one specifically, because I can never pick. They're all so good, and the book is even better. I remember reading the whole series over and over again because I loved it so much. I still do, actually. That and The Hobbit. I think Lord of the Rings trumps The Hobbit. And what's wrong with Twilight? I thought it was okay, but I like the books better."

His lips curl upward at the corners. "You're adorable when you ramble."

She raises an eyebrow curiously. "You don't think it's embarrassing and dorky?"

He shakes his head. "Not in the slightest. I think it's endearing."

She grins shyly before jumping into the next question. "Best friends?"

"Tommy Merlyn and John Diggle," he says without hesitation.

"Oh, I remember Tommy. He's always on TMZ with you. Well, until he decided to settle down, at least. How did you guys meet?"

"Our parents are old friends, so naturally, Tommy and I practically grew up together and got into all sorts of trouble. We've been inseparable since the day we met and then he got married." He snorts, remembering some of the things he'd done with him. "We accidentally set the curtains in my house on fire once when we were five." He shakes his head. "My parents were so mad. I've never seen them so furious before. I think my dad nearly had a coronary."

"How does one accidentally set curtains on fire?" she laughs in disbelief.

He grins. "All right, you caught me. It wasn't an accident. We wanted to see how fast those awful drapes would turn into ash. In our defense, we had fire extinguishers on hand. The situation was totally under control."

She scoffs. "The two of you probably couldn't have lifted the fire extinguishers, let alone use them."

"Hey! We were stronger than we looked," he says with mock defensiveness, and she laughs helplessly at that.

Their server interrupts their conversation when she starts clearing their plates. Felicity notices that she's bending over more than necessary, the top few buttons of her uniform undone, raising an eyebrow when she not-so-subtly slides a napkin over to Oliver. "Would you like dessert to be served now, Mr Queen?" she asks, ignoring Felicity entirely.

Oliver looks at Felicity, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes, please," she tells their server sweetly.

The moment she steps away from the table, Felicity bursts into giggles.

Oliver looks at her in bewilderment. "What she just did—that doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?"

He's even more confused now.

She nods in understanding, grinning wryly. "You were expecting me to start getting jealous. Should I have staked my claim on you?"

"Is there a right way to answer this question?"

"Are you going to keep the napkin?" she asks, cocking her head.

Scoffing, he sweeps the napkin containing their server's number, no doubt, onto the floor without any hesitation, all the while maintaining eye contact with her.

"You didn't spare her a look even when she was flashing you her chest and you're not the slightest bit interested in what she wrote on that napkin." She shrugs. "There's no reason I should be jealous."

Their server returns with two bowls of ice cream, setting it down in front of them. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?" she asks Oliver.

Almost giggling at how uncomfortable her date looks, Felicity hides her grin behind her hand when he throws her a dirty look.

"No," he says shortly, still not looking at her.

He glares at Felicity when the woman leaves them alone, finally getting the message. "That wasn't funny." He narrow his eyes at her when she smiles sweetly at him.

Then, she looks down at her ice cream, her brows hiking. "It's mint chip," she says in surprise.

"It's your favorite."

"But it wasn't on the menu," she points out, frowning. "How did—"

"The manager here owes me a favor," he shrugs.

"You did this for me?"

"Does that surprise you?"

She doesn't answer, but instead stands and goes over to him, sitting down beside him in the little booth they're in. She can practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he wonders what she's up to. She slides a hand under his jacket to his waist, and the other cupping his cheek, feeling his whiskers lightly tickle her palm. Slowly, she inches her face closer to his, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth in a soft kiss.  
"Thank you," she whispers.

She gets up to return to her seat, but he tugs her back to sit next to him. "Stay," he murmurs.

She does.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" he asks, when they're finished with dessert.

She stiffens. "Do you?"

"Not at first..." he says hesitantly.

"...until the day you met me," she finishes.

He nods.

She frowns. "And you wanted to go out with me despite that? It doesn't freak you out?"

"It does, a little," he admits. "Do you see them around all the time?"

"No. I can 'turn it off'. It's like flipping a switch in my head. It took me a while to figure out how to stop seeing them when I wanted to—they can get pretty scary sometimes, and after they realize that I can see them, they never leave me alone until I get them to move on. It got so bad at one point that I thought I'd really go crazy if I didn't find a way to turn this ghost radar off and then suddenly this switch in my head flipped. One second they were all crowding around me and the next, they went poof."

He grimaces. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugs. "Things got better after I found the switch."

"Why not keep it on all the time? What happened that day in the office?"

"There really aren't that many ghosts wandering around. Most days I can go around without seeing any of them even with the switch off. Sometimes I do that because I want to help them. I mean—who's going to if I don't? That day when we met, I had the switch off. The ghost that was there—she wanted me to pass on a message to her family, so I did, and she moved on." She turns to look at him, having turned away when she was telling her story. "If you want to break up with me now, I won't resent you or anything. It wouldn't be the first time someone's broken up with me because of this."

Oliver feels his heart crumble a little at the vulnerability he sees in her eyes. He clasps one of her hands in his. "Hey," he says softly. "I'm not going to break up with you."

He stands, pulling her up with him. "Come on. I have one place to take you."

* * *

 

  
"Oliver, what are we doing at the office?" Felicity asks him in confusion.

He doesn't answer her, just pulling her along with him to the 34th floor.

"The finance department? Oliver, I—" she stops abruptly, digging her heel into the marble floor. She shrugs her hand out of his, scoffing at herself when the other shoe finally drops. "So this is why you pretended to want to date me, isn't it? All the questions about ghosts earlier—it's because you wanted me to check out Mr Steele's new office."

"Felicity, I—"

"Oliver," she interrupts, "I would've helped you if you'd asked. You didn't have to lie about liking me or about your willingness to be in a relationship with me." She swipes her cheeks with the backs of her hands, wiping away the angry tears. Scoffing at herself again, she laughs once at her stupidity. "I believed every word you said, like a fool."

He feels even worse than he expected to. It's not just guilt he feels. There's something more. He feels like there is a fist clenched around his heart. Every thump against his chest hurts. _What was it that Diggle said?_ he thinks to himself. _If your heart doesn't tell you the truth, the pain will tell you_. Oh dear God. "Felicity, it's not—"

She holds out a hand, palm facing him. "Don't. I'll just turn my ghost radar on and help you. After that, we'll both go our separate ways and forget this ever happened."

She turns away from him, effectively ending the conversation. There's no one in the place apart from the two of them. She keeps her distance from him and continues to look around anyway. Then, the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She turns around just in time to see the ghost of their previous finance director materialize in front of the lifts, a stack of ghostly-looking files in his hand.

"He's here," Felicity whispers. She watches as the ghost of Mr Conrad Stiles head to his office, taking care not to walk through them even though he can. She frowns at this. Usually ghosts don't bother with this after they realize that they're ghosts. The only exception is when...

"Oliver," she whispers after Mr Stiles walks through the glass wall into his old office, "I don't think he knows he's dead."

Oliver frowns at this. "How can he not know? He's been six feet under for almost 2 weeks already."

"I'm going to talk to him." She strides off determinedly into the office, not bothering to knock. Oliver steps into the office as well, immediately noticing that it's as cold as it was the night he came here with Diggle. He follows her line of sight, but doesn't see anyone in the chair behind the desk.

"Mr Stiles," Felicity says after clearing her throat.

Conrad Stiles pauses in the act of flipping through documents in a file and looks up, meeting her gaze. He blinks at her in surprise, realizing that she can see him. Then, he breaks off eye contact and returns his attention to his documents, ignoring her.

"What's he doing?" Oliver whispers, watching her reactions rather than to try and look at something he simply cannot see.

"He's..." she trails off, still looking at the ghost incredulously, "not unaware that he's dead. He's pretending that he's still alive."

"He can't—"

She silences him with a warning glance. Then, she slowly approaches Stiles. "Mr Stiles, you can't keep doing this. You have to move on."

He continues to ignore her.

"What is it? What is it that's keeping you here?"

Stiles meets her gaze again and gestures at the folders on the desk.

"Your work? May I...?"

He nods, and she picks up one of the folders and looks through it.

"Project Phoenix," she whispers.

"That's the project he was working on before he passed away," Oliver says, raising his eyebrows.

"He wants to see it completed before he moves on," she tells him.

Oliver scrubs his face with his palms. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with determination and resolve. "Well. Let's get started then."

* * *

 

  
"Great work, Mr Stiles," Oliver says after looking through the project report. He looks over at the couch where Felicity last told him that Stiles was. "May you finally rest in peace."

Felicity stares at that same spot for a while before she smiles and looks distantly out of the window. It's almost dawn. "He's gone," she tells him.

Oliver sighs and stands up. "Thank you for your help, Felicity. I couldn't have done this without you."

"No problem, Mr Queen," she says with cool politeness. She stands up as well and steps into her pumps, having tossed them aside earlier while they were working.

He hates her tone, and he hates the distance between them. He follows after her, catching up easily with three long strides and grabs her wrist and tugs, spinning her around to face him.

He can see the tears in her eyes again, and hates himself for making her cry.

"Let go of me," she says, struggling against his grasp.

"No."

" _What?_ " she says incredulously.

He exhales a breath and presses her palm to his chest right over his heart. "Do you feel that?"

She feels his heart thumping against his chest. No, not thumping. It's... _racing_.

"Yes," he murmurs, and she realizes she must have spoken aloud. "Since the first time you rambled in your little cubicle in the IT department. Every time I lay my eyes on you, this happens." He waits for her to meet his gaze before continuing.

"My motives for asking you out may not have been genuine, but every word I said after that is real. I mean every single one of them. "I'm afraid of commitment, but if it means that I get to have and keep you, I'm willing to try. I like the way I feel when I'm with you, even when I think my heart will actually jump out of my chest because of how fast it's beating, and God dammit, I'm even starting to like all these fucking butterflies in my stomach. It eats me alive inside to see these tears in your eyes because I'm the one who made you cry."

She blinks at him, at a loss for words.

He smiles a little despite himself, because he's finally made her speechless. He drops the hand that's holding hers to his chest down to her hip, while his other brushes her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Right now, I really want to kiss you, if you'll let me."

Every second she doesn't respond feels like an hour and it's agony. He waits patiently, regardless, just looking into her blue eyes, willing her to see that he means everything he's said.

She takes a step back and rakes a palm across his cheek. His head whips to the other side, and he blinks in surprise, not expecting the action at all. His ear is ringing from the slap, and his lip stings.

He turns back to look at her, flexing his jaw. "I guess I deserve that," he says.

She raises her hands again, and he shrinks back instinctively, expecting another slap. She surprises him by grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket and yanking him down, pressing her lips to his.

Neither of them move for a moment, Oliver unable to process what happened between one minute and the next, while Felicity just savors the feel of his lips on hers. Then, Oliver exhales in relief against her lips before slipping his eyes shut and moving his lips gently. She cups his cheek with a hand, feeling the scruff beneath her palm, enjoying the way it lightly scratches and tickles her skin. 

Boldly, she traces his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue and tastes the metallic tang of blood from the cut on his lip. He gasps against her lips and something changes in the kiss. He steps closer to her, his hands gripping her more tightly, fingers digging into her hips. Their bodies are pressed up against each other, every curve of her body aligned with the hard planes of his. He kisses her more forcefully as she arches against him, nipping her lip when she doesn't part them quickly enough. He reaches up and tugs on her hair, not hard enough that it's painful, but just enough that her head tips back further and her lips part in surprise. He slides his tongue past her lips, nearly bending her over as he claims her mouth. 

She tears her lips away from his to catch her breath, and they stare at each other for a moment, panting hard. His gaze dips to her lips, delighting in how swollen they look. She barely has time to register the wicked intent in his gaze before his mouth slants over hers again, rendering her incapable of any other thoughts other than the feeling of his lips on hers. He backs her against the nearest wall, and she gasps against his lips when his fingers brush against the bare skin of her thigh between her dress and stockings. They don't trail up her thigh and under her dress like she expects him to, but instead, he inches them lower, fingering the lace tops of her stockings teasingly. He kisses her with ardent hunger, their tongues exploring and savoring the taste of each other. She licks the cut on his lip, her hand tangling in his hair and tugging hard, eliciting a groan from him.

He trails his fingers to her knee, cupping the back of it and lifting it suddenly, and she grabs ahold of his broad shoulder with her free hand instinctively. He hikes her leg over his hip, her dress sliding up her thighs. He palms her ass, and in a calculated move, bends down and thrusts upward, his growing erection coming into contact with her heated core. She lets out a moan into his mouth which he swallows, and returns a more masculine version of his own, bordering on animalistic. 

Instead of continuing in that direction, he slows them right down, relaxing his grip on her hip, his lips softening against hers. He places a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before pulling away from her just enough so that he can meet her gaze, placing her foot back onto the floor. Still flushed and breathless, she opens her eyes slowly and looks up at him. 

"I've wanted to do that since the day we met," he admits. "Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?" she asks, confused.

"For letting me kiss you." He steps away from her, a small sad smile on his lips before he turns around and starts walking away from her.

She frowns in confusion. _Where is he going?_

"Oliver?"

He pauses, but doesn't turn around.

"When's our next date?"

He whirls around, utterly surprised. " _What?_ " he asks in disbelief.

And then, it hits her. _He thought it was a goodbye kiss_. 

"I said," she repeats, a teasing grin on her face, "when is our next date?"

He smiles, and it's so beautiful, filled with hope and surprise and pure joy that it takes her breath away. He goes back to her and kisses her again, smiling against her lips. 

"You're amazing," he tells her, still in disbelief over the turn of events.

"I know," she says, tipping her chin upward teasingly. "And you better remember that, Mr Queen."

"Always," he promises.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might do a second part for this one-shot depending on the response of the first part. We'll see!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the story!
> 
> \- Skylar


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